


Tired.

by dorkpatroller



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Relationship, almost getting together but not quite, like lets put a pin in it, no major spoilers but maybe spoilers for their support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 17:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21480349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorkpatroller/pseuds/dorkpatroller
Summary: Hilda closes her eyes and all she knows is she's so, so tired. But he's worth it, she knows. He's worth fighting for even when she's tired.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril & Claude von Riegan, Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 95





	Tired.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kibume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kibume/gifts).

The rain pounding down against Claude’s back is icy. It dribbles down from his hair down his neck and along his shoulders and spine. It soaks his clothes until he feels like a drowned rat, and all he wants is to head back to the caravan and change into something warm. He won’t, not yet. The moment he realized that Hilda was missing--just  _ missing.  _ No trace, no trail, no  _ corpse-- _ Claude’s heart stopped cold in his chest, just as frozen as the rain. 

He trusted Hilda not to let this happen. Despite her best efforts to project herself as a delicate flower, she’s strong. She’s smart. She’s well-trained. Oh, and she’s headstrong too. Claude has never worried about letting her watch over half of a battle while he mans the other half. He has always known she’ll come back to him griping about how unfair it is to make her do this and with a successful report. 

He also trusted her not to vanish, but while he flies low on his wyvern over the blood-soaked battlefield and while the wind threatens to freeze the tips of his ears off as it whips past him, he wonders if he was wrong to trust her. He squints his eyes but there’s no visibility at all. The rain is pounding down so hard it’s ricocheting and leaving a white mist against the ground. Every few seconds he’s forced to push his bangs back out of his face because the weight of the rain keeps dragging them into his eyes.  _ “Hilda!”  _ He calls out. He’d called her name so many times now that he can’t even tell if he’s still shouting it. He knows she can’t hear him. He can’t even hear himself over the drumming of the rain. 

It’s not the sound of her calling out to him that helps him find her, because he could never have heard her with a waterfall by his ears. It’s her gloves. They’re just there in the mud, a pile of red fabric floating in a murky puddle. Claude almost passes over it, but it clicks in his head and he slides right off the wyvern to go back. No one just takes off their gloves and neatly lays them on the field in battle. This is a hint left especially for him. 

It’s thanks to that hint that he finds her a few minutes later. He spots a trench hidden beneath a collapsed tree and some overgrown weeds. It takes more time than he’d like to get to it, dragging his rain-heavy boots through mud that feels almost like quicksand. He’s so relieved, though. He slips and slides down the muddy trench wall until he’s at the bottom and there she is. 

“It’s about time you found me,” Hilda mumbles. She’s propped herself up against the dirt wall of the trench. Rainwater isn’t as heavy down here, but it’s still dribbling down. Hilda is soaked through too, shaking like a leaf. Her eyes are dull and droopy, and her bare hand is digging into her side to put pressure on a wound. The blood on her fingers is dried and cracked, and he hopes that means she’s treated the wound already. 

For just a moment he remains still. He has to, so his heart can catch up with the reality that Hilda is fine and start beating again. He has to so his lungs can remember what it’s like to breathe, now that he can see she’s safe.  _ Always retreat. Never get yourself killed. Do you understand me? _ He was so afraid, but she’s just as trustworthy as ever. She hid. 

He moves closer and slides down the muddy wall to sit beside her. As soon as he does she drops her head onto his shoulder. Her hair is sticky and mostly brown, caked in mud in such a way that the pink is almost unrecognizable. He’s just as filthy, so he doesn’t imagine one more mud stain will hurt his gambeson. During the silence, he lays his cheek on top of her head, enjoying how, despite the cold, she still feels a little warm under him. 

“I’m so tired, Claude,” Hilda says with a voice that’s quiet and meek. 

Maybe Claude is being selfish. He should have started to get her towards help already. “I’ll get you to a healer. Do you think you can stand?” 

The quietest, tiniest snort of a laugh rumbles through her. “No, not that, dumb-dumb. I’m not dying. I’m just  _ tired.”  _ Ah, well. She must be feeling at least halfway alright if she can call him names. He slides his arm behind her back to pull her closer--she’s still shivering and it’s the least he can do. His fingers lay over hers on her wound for a moment, and he feels the way her icy fingertips twitch slower than ever.  _ Tired.  _ “This is so much harder than I ever imagined. I really took peace for granted, you know?” 

Claude can’t help the little chuckle in his throat. “What we’re fighting for is bigger than all of us. You’ll have peace again soon, Hilda. Don’t you worry about that.” His confidence is real. He does think they’ll be at peace sooner rather than later. He does think he can make that promise. This one isn’t a white lie. 

“Mhmm. I believe you, but you don’t have to take that tone with me,” Hilda mutters. “We already talked about this. Those fake smiles and pep talks don’t work on me.”

Ah, what a brat. Claude closes his eyes and smiles to himself. She’s a brat, she is, but he’s so thankful she’s alive. She’s such an important brat to him. “Caught me red-handed,” he admits. 

“So just say it,” Hilda mutters. Her voice is lacking her normal enthusiasm. She may not be dying, but she’s clearly feeling quite defeated. 

Claude nuzzles his cheek against her hair just once. A little friction against the cold, a little reminder that they’re both alive and have warm blood running through their veins. “I’m tired, too.” 

“That’s more like it,” Hilda tries to coo, but it’s too soft. 

Claude is  _ exhausted.  _ He’s tired of coming up with plans. He’s tired of his plans falling through and needing back-up plans. He’s tired of fighting. He’s tired of marching. He’s tired of Fódlan. He just wants to… well, he wants to lay here with Hilda and take a nap. They could just hide from the world for a while. Would that be alright? Surely not. Hilda needs medical attention. 

“The professor will be looking for us,” Claude finally says. He moves away from her side, leaving a frozen spot on his shoulder where she just was. When he pulls her hand away to inspect her injury, it’s still oozing. It isn’t too bad. Her skin is sticky from the elixir she dumped on it. It probably saved her life--that and hiding out down here. “Gonna need you to climb, Hildy.” 

“That’s too much work,” She whines. “And don’t call me that, it’s not a pretty nickname.” She’s defeated, but she takes his hands and lets him pull her to her feet. They’re wobbly and unsteady, she looks like she might fall over at best. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t fall. She doesn’t want to stay in this trench and drown while freezing rain fills it up. 

“Ladies first, Sunshine,” Claude says. He pushes her to climb the muddy slope to the surface first. She might normally make a protest about him looking up her skirt, or whine that he could just carry her with those strong arms of his, but she moves ahead silently.

Mostly silently. “I don’t like that one either. It’s not very original.” 

He smiles to himself and stays behind her to make sure that he’s there to catch her if she slips in the mud or starts to fall.

…

  
  


“I had almost forgotten the color of my own hair!” Hilda says to Marianne. Claude only hears it because he’s pushing the door to the infirmary open. Hilda looks much better. She peers up at him from the bed where she’s just finished braiding her damp, pink hair over one shoulder. She’s clean now, that’s for certain. Most of them bathed right away, but she had wounds that needed to be treated first. Now she’s glowing and bright again, just the way Claude likes to see her. And her voice is bright again, too, when she says “You could have knocked, Claude. What if I hadn’t been dressed?” 

She’s wearing a pale nightgown right now, with her legs tucked under a thin blanket. That’s hardly a state most people would call dressed, but Hilda doesn’t seem to care. Marianne ducks her head. “I’ll find you something to eat,” She whispers, and she accepts no argument when she steps out. 

“No armor today, big guy? I guess that means even  _ Master Tacticians _ can take a break?” Hilda pulls her knees closer to herself on the bed. She pulls the blankets with her, making a mess of them but also freeing up a spot for Claude to sit where her feet just were. He accepts the invitation for what it is. While he gets settled, she wraps her arms around her knees and puts her chin there to rest while they chat. “I guess I had a head injury too. Marianne was so upset, poor thing! I gave her a real fright.” 

“Her and I both,” Claude mutters. “But I’m glad to see you back to your sparkling self again.” 

“Amazing what a bath and some beauty sleep can do, isn’t it?” Hilda hums. 

Claude hums too, but then it turns into a question. “Are you still tired?” Despite the bubbly tone in his voice, her eyes catch on his and he knows she sees right through his question. She nods her head. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever  _ not _ be tired of this,” She admits. “I’ll probably be tired of this for the rest of my life. But don’t get me wrong, it’s worth it, you know? You’re doing what’s best for all of us. So even when I’m tired, I’ll still get up and follow you. Knowing that we’re fighting for a better future really motivates me, you know?” 

“I know,” He assures her.

She lifts her chin just so she can dip her head to the side. “So are  _ you _ still tired? Because you’re supposed to be the face of optimism, you know.” 

Oh, he knows. He reaches forward and pats her leg, just above her ankle, through the safety of her blanket. Her skin is warm again, he can feel it even through the fabric. He’s so glad. He thought she might freeze to death in that trench. “Me? Tired? Never.” 

“That’s the liar I know and love.” 

“Aw, that’s both hurtful and endearing. Do you love me, Hilda?” Claude asks with his normal smirk spread over his face. But then she’s quiet, staring at him with those pretty, almost teary eyes, and his smirk melts into a soft, more genuine smile. He squeezes her leg one more time. “Actually… let’s put a pin in that one, alright? We can come back to it later.” 

“R-Right!” Hilda reaches up to rub at her eyes with the back of her hands. She coughs while she does it. “Ugh, sorry. All this dust we stirred up fixing up the monastery really gets to me. It’s the absolute worst!” 

“Me too,” Claude says. Hilda looks him in the eye again, so he nods and repeats it. Just to make sure she knows. Before they change the topic entirely, before she complains that he shouldn’t make her do any cleaning anymore because she’s  _ so  _ sensitive to the dust, before they pretend this conversation never happened… he just wants her to know. “Me too.” 

And through those sweet,  _ genuine _ tears, she smiles. 

**Author's Note:**

> For @kibusatelier! I had so much fun working on it, and I love Claude/Hilda very much. 
> 
> Follow me @dorkpatroller on twitter!


End file.
